The Wrong Kind of Work
by KLMeri
Summary: Things get stirred up on the Enterprise after a lesson gone awry.  - COMPLETE
1. Part One

**Title**: The Wrong Kind of Work (1/2)

**Author**: klmeri

**Fandom**: Star Trek TOS

**Characters**: Kirk, Spock, McCoy (and others)

**Disclaimer**: What, I could own these characters? Doubt that very much.

**Summary**: Things get stirred up on the Enterprise after a lesson gone awry.

* * *

**My strange side is showing again. Oops.**

* * *

Chekov walks into Engineering, rounds a console, and stops.

"I need a breather."

"As you wish, Doctor."

McCoy crawls from under a panel, tool in hand and panting. Chekov can make out the sweat on his forehead as McCoy turns his head in Chekov's direction. The doctor says, "What are you staring at?"

"Nothing, Sir! Not a thing, Sir! I was—I was just looking for Mr. Scott."

"Scotty's hanging out in _my _Sickbay."

Chekov forgets his sense for a moment. "Why?"

McCoy reaches up and takes a hold of Spock's pants leg; the Vulcan doesn't move an inch as Leonard uses him like a climbing pole to get to his feet.

"_Why_, Chekov?" McCoy's voice grows louder with each Southern-slurred word. "You wanna know _why _the _Chief Engineer_ is playing with _life-savin' medical equipment_ while the Chief Medical Officer suffers in a God-forsaken cesspit of radiation?"

Belatedly, Pavel wonders if he can apologize quickly enough to retreat but, by the blazing of Doctor McCoy's blue eyes, the navigator has a terrible feeling he has only felt the first pebble of an avalanche. So, instead, he looks to Mr. Spock for help—trying to shove as much pleading into his expression as possible (without alerting McCoy).

The First Officer's eyebrow goes up, and that's a bad sign. Chekov is screwed. He switches tactics. "Doctor McCoy, I am terribly sorry for interrupting—" He pauses. What is he interrupting?

"Oh no, you don't, Pavel."

Crap. McCoy's using his first name! That's usually right before a hypospray to the neck. Wait… should he be looking out for Scotty instead? Chekov begins to perspire with confusion.

"Doc—tor McCoy, I _really _must be going…" His Russian accent grows so thick the last sentence is barely understandable.

"See what you've done, you pointy-eared hobgoblin!" McCoy is not quite screeching. "You're upsettin' _everyone _with your confounded LOGIC! So help me, God, if Scotty's started a Rigellan plague—"

Chekov thanks the higher powers for the distraction and sprints for the exit. McCoy would only see a blur of gold if he ever pauses in his castigation of the First Officer.

* * *

Pavel makes it up five decks before his curiosity is restored. It's only logical—wouldn't Mr. Spock be proud?—to go to Sickbay to find Mr. Scott.

The doors slide open and Chekov encounters an irate Chapel—which is strange because Nurse Chapel seems the calmest of all McCoy's staff; a feat in itself, considering she has to work under the irascible Doctor McCoy. Pavel admits to no small amount of respect for Christine.

She doesn't bother to ask him about his business in Sickbay, despite that the navigator usually has to be rounded up, threatened, and summarily dragged in for every routine physical examination. Chapel throws a sharp look at Pavel and says, "He's in the back."

Of course Chekov is not quite sure where "the back" is but he hears the faint lilt of a brogue and follows that.

Scotty is peering into a male ensign's ear and remarks, "Now hold still there, lad. I can't be doctoring ye and fightin' yer fidgets at the same time!"

"Hello, Mr. Scott," Chekov greets.

"Be with ye in a minute, Chekov! I'm almost done—"

The male ensign leans too far away from the Chief Engineer and almost falls off the examination table. As he scrambles to his feet, the (scared-looking) man says, quite nervously, "I suddenly feel so much better! Thanks a bunch, Mr. Scott, I think I just ate something that—didn't agree with me."

"Are ye sure? Yer lookin' a little green." Scotty pulls open a random drawer. "Give me a sec, laddie, and I'm sure I can find somethin' to cure that ill stomach—"

"NO! No, no, thank you, Mr. Scott," the ensign begs as he backs away (almost into Pavel). "I'm feeling better. So much better! I just—"

And he's gone. Pavel has to commend him on his speed.

"Well," Mr. Scott says. "Pavel, what can I do for ye?"

"I was reading an article on transwrap theory and—"

"Feeling nae so good? C'mon and I'll take a look." The engineer pats the table with a quirky half-grin.

"No, Mr. Scott, I'm fine." Maybe this was a bad idea. "Doctor McCoy's in Engineering."

Scotty goes from good-natured to slightly wild in a heartbeat. "Was he touching anything?" Suddenly, Chekov is being gripped by the upper arms with a surprising strength.

"Mr. Scott!"

"What's he done to me engines, boy! Letting loose an untrained man in the heart of the Lady… Why, this whole thing's confoundin' and I dinnae have a choice in the matter!"

Chekov listens to Mr. Scott's woes which sound suspiciously like the doctor's. So Mr. Spock is the responsible party for uprooting two comfortably settled men into unknown duties.

He tells the engineer, "I don't understand, Scotty. Why are you and Doctor McCoy—switched?"

Mr. Scott blinks. "The good doctor and myself got in a wee row over our usual bottle o' scotch." McCoy likes scotch? He thought it was bourbon. Huh. "And… well, it mighta gotten outta hand but then Mr. Spock…" The man trails off.

"Mr. Spock?" he prompts.

Scotty sighs heavily. "Mr. Spock thinks we dinnae understand the value of each other's work. Now," he protests, "I'd never disrespect another job! I ken how important the doctor is to the ship. Why, he takes right care of the lads down in Engineering—patching 'em up after a mishap—"

Chekov blocks out the majority of the ensuing tales because the Bridge Crew knows full well how accident-prone Engineering is—or how often Engineering gets hit in battle. He takes advantage of Mr. Scott's pause for breath to excuse himself with apologies from Sickbay. Chekov tries not to think too hard on how forlorn the Chief Engineer looks, left behind in a sterile Sickbay with the smell of antiseptic—and no purr of a well-tuned engine.

The navigator goes back to his quarters and comms Sulu. "Hikaru, you'll never believe what's going on…"

* * *

After Chekov's escape—and probable blabbering to his co-workers—McCoy notes a sudden influx of random ensigns into Engineering as the hours progress. He barks at them "What d'ya want?" just a bit more grumpily each time.

And damn it! He can't figure out why he has more leftover parts than he started with—he thinks he put this back together right, but the extra bolts and that wire-thingy make him second-guess himself.

Leonard throws down a wrench and yells, "I'm a doctor, not an engineer!"

Unfortunately, Spock is gone now to perform his _proper_ duties, leaving McCoy to blunder about in the Engineering Department without direction. Not that the fool Vulcan helped before anyway.

All Spock could say was, "Not there, Doctor" or "Incorrect, Doctor" or "That's a detonation button, Doctor. Please do not touch it."

Doctor McCoy flops down into a chair with a heavy sigh. (Why are there so little places to rest a man's bones? He'll have to make Scotty send in some requisition forms.)

Who knew that sneaky Vulcan lurks about Engineering in the evening. Well, maybe he and Scotty were getting a little too loud in the heat of their argument, but that's no excuse for eavesdropping on your fellow crewmen, now is it?

To think, Leonard McCoy and Scott Montgomery chastised like children at their age. And punished. What is this, some convoluted version of Vulcan time-out?

That settles it for McCoy. He wants Jim. He wants Jim to fix this mess _right now_, because if he doesn't get back to the sweet sound of hissing hyposprays…

He'll do something drastic. Like shut down the engines or…

McCoy rubs a finger against his lower lip, thinking. He grabs the arm of a passing Engineer _laddie_ as Scotty always call his crew. "Son," he says, "Why don't you give me a tour? I'm fairly lost down here and there's something I have in mind…"

Maybe the Captain's authority isn't needed yet. McCoy's pretty sure that the plan forming in his head is devious but not overly dangerous.

_Now_, he wonders as he trails behind an oddly jumpy red-shirt, _where was that blasted red button again?_


	2. Part Two

**Okay, so this is going to be a tad bit longer than I anticipated. Enjoy!**

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* * *

**

Part Two

Chapel is frowning over a report when M'Benga pokes his head into the main area with a strange look on his face. They both told Mr. Scott very firmly that if a patient is bleeding, half-dead or just generally _sick_, then to get one of the nurses or Dr. M'Benga. ("_No exceptions, Mr. Scott!") _So it couldn't be to warn her about another diverted disaster like two hours ago. (Christine had walked in an isolation room to find the Chief Engineer dismantling a bio-scanner _while it was attached to a patient_; he said, in his defense, "It was makin' a queer noise, lass. Dinnae sound right, thought I'd take a peek.") Now there is always a med-tech or some on-duty staff personnel in whichever part of Sickbay Mr. Scott happens to be poking about.

"Christine," M'Benga says. "Doctor McCoy's on the comm. For you."

She drops the report into his hands as she brushes past. "I'll take it in the CMO's office."

"Leonard!" she says into the speaker. "I don't care what you did; I don't care whose fault it was. Apologize to Scotty and Mr. Spock AND GET BACK UP HERE!"

There is a short silence, as if McCoy is surprised at her ferocity. (His surprise doesn't last long.) "Why, darlin', you sound a mite agitated."

"I'm not playing with you, Doctor," Christine warns.

"Neither am I, Chris. How many patients has Scotty terminated so far?"

She snorts. "None, fortunately. But we've had a couple of close calls. That's why we need you here, Len. _This is ridiculous_."

"You're telling me, sweetheart. I've got dirt on my hands, Christine. DIRT. A doctor can't have dirty hands, for Christ's sake!"

She sighs. Why is this all such a mess? Christine feels for Mr. Spock, deeply, but his disciplinary skills suck. Besides, doesn't this endanger the entire ship? She'd love to give that Vulcan a piece of her mind right about now, no matter how attractive the points of his ears are.

"Is that why you comm-ed, Len, to ask about Mr. Scott?"

"Well, no I didn't. Though, keep him out of Isolation, okay? I don't want Envers to have a set-back."

She makes no comment on that request, though her brain goes _too late_. "What else?"

The speaker squeaks with static for a moment. Then McCoy asks, "I need a few things. Can you send down a spare laser-scapel set? Oh, and that old bag I keep between my desk and the wall."

"Is there a medical emergency? Do you need assistance?"

"Ah no, that won't be necessary." His Southern twang deepens a little, which makes Chapel's inner McCoy-compass swing to Suspicious Behavior. "Just need my tools—nothing medical involved, scout's honor."

"Leonard," she draws out the name. "What are you up to?"

There is a short peel of laughter over the comm unit. "Chris, I'm just an old doctor. What kinda trouble could I possibly get into down here?"

Her mind flies through the possibilities. Warp-drive engines, power supply posts. _Crap._ Life-support room. Christine decides to go for broke. "Keep Sickbay off your radar, Doctor McCoy. Or I'll comm Mr. Spock _and_ the Captain."

"We're on the same team," he reminds her. "McCoy, out."

* * *

The Captain is relaxing on top of pile of paperwork. He was rewarded with a quiet day on the Bridge, a prompt meal from his yeoman, and some well-deserved down-time. Well. If this paperwork would magically disappear.

Jim picks up his head, a nearby PADD pen and resigns himself to another hour of translating and signing Command reports. Why does each department have to send him twenty-page dissertations just to conclude that all's functional in their part of the ship? The life of a Captain is not so glamorous as the media makes it seem. Jim chuckles at the thought of hosting a promotional ad for the Fleet behind a loaded desk of forms, requisitions, and reports.

Ten minutes of bored pen-tapping and Kirk is more than happy to entertain the visitor buzzing at his door. "Mr. Spock!" he crows and bounces up from around the desk. "How are you today? All in order on the Bridge? Of course it is! Why do I bother asking? Tea?" He is already fiddling with replicator by the time Spock is allowed to interrupt the Captain's enthusiastic greeting.

"Captain." The Vulcan speaks in the same monotone he has since they first met. "I feel that I must report the behavior of two senior officers."

Kirk slides a cup across the desk to Spock. "There aren't that many senior officers aboard, Spock. If we're discounting ourselves, then…"

"Correct. I speak of the Chief Engineer and CMO."

Kirk tries to put on his shocked face, but it's rebelliously turning into a grin. "What's Bones and Scotty done now?"

"Captain, I do not believe that their conduct calls for amusement."

The Captain clears his throat and says in a more serious voice, "Report, Mr. Spock."

"At 2310 hours, the two officers were engaged in a mutual… disagreement of a disturbing nature."

Spock pauses as Kirk leans back in his chair, listening intently. "There were derogatory words used in both cases, I believe, to describe the other's position on the Enterprise."

"They were insulting each other. Okay. That's not new, Spock. Bones gets riled pretty easily and Scotty won't take a word said against the Enterprise."

Spock blinks. "Each crewmember must learn respect for his peers and superiors, Captain. Without respect, and understanding, for the integrated aspects of ship functionality, the Enterprise will lose its cohesion as a unit."

Kirk sighs. "Mr. Spock, you are not wrong. Trust me, I do realize the implications of a crew-at-war, but Bones and Scotty… they don't mean their words, not to each other."

It's the subtle shift that Spock makes, sitting in his chair so straight-backed, that clues Jim in. "Spock," he asks cautiously. "What did you—"

"I administered a corrective assignment within the bounds of Starfleet regulation, Captain."

Jim feels his jaw drop. "What?"

"I believe that Terrans refer to it as 'walking in another's shoes.'"

There is a brief stunned silence as Jim absorbs the full impact of Spock's words. Finally, he begs, "Please tell me that you didn't put McCoy—"

"—in Engineering and Mr. Scott in Medical. Yes, Captain."

Jim places a hand over his mouth. Whether he's attempting to smother a hysterical laugh or a whimper, he's not sure (and never will be). Then it strikes him.

Bones is near the engines.

_Dear God!_

He's out of his seat and practically to the door, barking, "With me, Mr. Spock! We've got to get McCoy!"

The Vulcan displays muted signs of confusion as they hustle down the corridor to the nearest lift. He says, "I do not understand your urgency, Jim. Why—"

Jim slaps the button to call the turbolift and rounds on Mr. Spock. "You may not have known Doctor McCoy as long as I have, Spock, but I can tell you this—the last time Bones had to _help out_ anywhere near a ship's engine—and this is unfortunately during our first meeting, we were so desperate for extra hands, I'll never forget it—well, let's just say that the ship had a scare that nearly retired my first Captain."

Apparently Spock does not find it too difficult to picture Leonard McCoy mixing wires on a reactor. He's in the lift before Jim steps foot inside and dragging the Captain behind him.

The lift glides down into the ship… slowly. Spock looks to Jim. "I may have been remiss in my decision, Sir."

Jim shakes his head a little with a smile. "We're all prone to mistakes, Spock. Besides, who'd expect McCoy to fell an entire starship?"

That infamous eyebrow goes up. "Indeed."

* * *

The tip of Len's tongue is visible as he works diligently. "Hand me another roll of that—uh—metal stuff, Lieutenant."

"Sir," the red-shirt says as he reluctantly proffers the item to the doctor, "maybe you shouldn't—"

McCoy turns to glare at the young man. "Did Mr. Spock or did he not confine me to this area of the ship for Alpha shift?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Well, son, what do you think I'm going to do all day? Twiddle my thumbs?"

Under that glare, the man manages, "No, Sir."

"That's right. If Spock wants to make an engineer outta me then, by God, that's what he'll get! Damn Vulcan—" The rest of the words are string of vivid curses not meant for delicate ears. If the subject of said-cursing were present, he might be intrigued and inquire after the doctor's wealth of dialectal expressions.

When McCoy demands another tool from an old sagging (strange) black bag, the lieutenant complies without much complaint—though, he briefly marvels at the long blade with wide eyes. Doctor McCoy snatches it from his hands and admonishes him for keeping the sharp end pointed at his chest with "You'd think the Fleet pulled ya'll out of the swamp for all the safety training you fools got! No wonder Engineering has the highest injury-rating…"

It goes on like this for quite so time, but a crowd is gathering, not to listen, to stare at the doctor's handy work. However, there is one crucial member missing—and perhaps the vital piece: the Chief Engineer. Were Mr. Scott there, he would have herded his staff to higher ground in an instant.

And boggled over the monstrosity on which McCoy is "performing surgery."

And then, in another heart-beat, set off the alarms for immediate evacuation of the Enterprise.

Sadly, Scotty is not about; there is only a group of curious red-shirts… and one determined, unstoppable Doctor McCoy.


	3. Part Three

**Part Three**

"Spock, stay here. I'll go in and try to talk McCoy down."

The Vulcan blinks. "Captain, I must fail to understand the seriousness of this situation. Do you believe McCoy to have become… dangerous?"

Kirk ignores his question. "If you approach him, Mr. Spock, it could be fatal. Your presence might set McCoy off—considering that you're the reason he is in Engineering in the first place."

Spock tilts his head minutely, as if attempting to read between the lines for any underpinning of hostility. While Kirk assures Mr. Spock that he is forgiven for his "unknowingly bad judgment call"—which would make any Vulcan a mite indignant—the Captain is, quite simply, emotionally volatile; perhaps more so than the doctor, who is a supernova of emotion but usually on one particular, steady course. (Leonard McCoy is predictable in this respect.)

Directing a swarm of security officers like an orchestra, the Captain pulls his shoulders back and marches into the Engineering Department, leaving one tall (slightly curious) Vulcan behind.

* * *

McCoy digs at a screw with his scalpel and curses; in the face of ill-success, he picks up a screwdriver, stares at it before turning it around handle first to whack the stubborn bolt into submission. As the bolt bends and McCoy feels a bit of elation, the doctor hears the faint interruption of "Bones. Bones!"

"What?" he snaps, twisting his head to the intruder. (It's the Captain, no surprise there.)

"Doctor McCoy," the Captain says calmly, "I need you to lay down your weapon, place your hands in the air, and back away slowly from the device."

Leonard stares at Jim like he's gone 'round the bend. "Excuse me, son?"

"Doctor McCoy," the man repeats with a developing flush, "I need—"

"Yeah, heard you the first time, Jimmy. What's the matter with you? I'm not some maniac!" Len attempts to moderate his voice for the sake of show. That's when he notices the half-circle of armed security officers in the background. "You're serious?"

"Deadly, Bones. I won't have my ship and crew blown to pieces because you're feeling adventurous."

_Oh no. Oh HELL no._ "Adventurous?" McCoy rises from his crouch. "_Adventurous?_ Think I'm down here 'cause it's _entertaining?_ You Goddamn fool of a man!"

Kirk's face goes red with temper. "Watch it! I'll charge you with insubordination, Doctor or—"

"Or what, _Captain?_ Send the Vulcan in to punish me some more! You can't damn well punish me anymore than this! I've got a grease monkey of a Scotsman in SICKBAY and not one of these _lads_—" He gestures wildly at the blinking group of engineers. "—has brains enough to get me some damned mesh wire!"

Kirk demands, "Explain that again."

McCoy shouts, "I—want—mesh—wire!"

Jim squints one eye. His farm-boy-self says, "Chicken wire?"

"Naw, the holes'd be too big." McCoy pauses, thinks. "Needs to be like the covering over the comm speaker."

"Oh."

They stare at one another for a moment in time. (Several security officers fidget during the lapse and an engineer-in-training yawns.)

Jim unfolds his arms and says, looking past McCoy, "What are you building, Bones?"

A grin spreads over McCoy's face, and he bounces on the balls of his feet. "C'mon and take a look, Jim. She's only half-done but a rare beauty, if I do say so myself!"

* * *

Spock has not moved from his spot in front of Engineering since the Captain charged inside with a slew of red-shirts.

At precisely fifteen point twenty-three minutes, the door whisks open and said-red-shirts (and a sleepy-looking lieutenant) file past Mr. Spock with disappointed looks. The door slides shut.

The Captain does not emerge, nor the CMO. Spock contemplates his options for approximately ten seconds before he breaks his stance and strides into Engineering, hands clasped behind his back.

His ears pick up the sound of murmuring and the words "Just to the left there, Jimmy. Now, hold that." Finally, his eyes lay upon the persons of James T. Kirk and Leonard McCoy. The former is balancing on one knee and one hand as he pokes at something on the other side of a large, quite unidentifiable object. McCoy is sitting cross-legged and issuing directions.

Neither seems to notice Spock; thus, the First Officer takes the initiative with "Captain. Doctor."

Doctor McCoy shoots him what ensigns term (rather illogically) the Evil Eye, and Jim just says in a muffled voice, "Hold on, Spock. Let me—okay!" Kirk sits back on his haunches and grins in such a way that sheds years off his age.

Spock settles for slowly circling the strange, lopsided contraption. His critical eye categorizes several integrity faults and possible hazards.

"Well?" McCoy breaks into the Vulcan's study.

"It is… unique, Doctor. Might I ask its purpose?"

The doctor looks suspiciously satisfied as he turns to the Captain. "Now," he drawls to Jim, "I'm not rightly sure Mr. Spock'll be onboard with our explanation, Jim-boy. What d'ya think?"

Jim takes a playful moment to cock his head at the Vulcan and consider the possibilities. "Do Vulcans engage in the… acquisition of illegal substances, Mr. Spock?" he asks.

Spock blinks, says, "I do not understand, Captain."

"Why, don't insult his race, Jim! Surely Vulcans are too prim and proper!"

His attention turned to McCoy (and that illogical statement), the First Officer remarks, "Vulcan is a conglomeration of individuals, Doctor. While I can speak for myself and persons of acquaintance, there will always be those with… unsuitable tastes and irrational desires."

"Lord help us if the Vulcans can't be perfect," McCoy mutters. He switches the subject before Spock can reply (not that he would deign to). "Well, I'm just learning my lesson here, Spock."

"Indeed?" It's more of a curious question than a statement.

"That's right! What you see before you is an example of my humble apologies to the Chief Engineer."

Spock looks at this thing which Jim gives a fond pat.

McCoy asks, "What do you think of my gift?"

"I could, perhaps, answer your question with more accuracy, Doctor, were I to understand the purpose of this gift to Mr. Scott."

Coming to stand very close to the Vulcan, McCoy locks his hands behind his back and bounces. "Moonshine, Mr. Spock. What do you know about the moonshine-making business?"

Spock admits to a dearth of knowledge in this area. McCoy enlightens him, Jim occasionally as well—with a quick grin—and subsequently the Vulcan gains another subject for (intense) future research. He then takes thirty seconds to contemplate the "still of white lightning."

"Increasing the trajectory angle by 6.5% will correct the weight ratio of this leg—" He indicates the impediment. "—and also the 'trough.'"

McCoy stops bouncing and silently meets Mr. Spock's eyes. "A'right, Spock," he says slowly. "I forgive you."

Jim breaks in, "Excellent!" He briefly grabs each officer's shoulder and squeezes it. "Bones, Spock, I'll leave you two to it. Comm me later and I'll bring Scotty down."

"Captain," Spock calls after the retreating figure. "There are certain regulations which prohibit…" He stops talking when Jim laughs.

"Mr. Spock, I must admit to a selective memory—surely a medical condition, right, Bones?" McCoy grins. "All I know is if Doctor McCoy wants to reconcile with a little gift-giving, then that's fine. So long as my crew goes back to normal and—" The Captain shoots a look at McCoy. "—all involved parties maintain responsible behavior."

"Aye, Captain!" Doctor McCoy salutes sharply.

As Kirk retreats, Spock summarizes the situation with "Fascinating."

* * *

Suffice to say, at the end of Alpha shift, Kirk leads in a depressed Chief Engineer. Scotty takes one look at his present, sheds a small tear and demands that all but the three senior officers leave the vicinity _right then_.

"What's wrong, Scotty?" Leonard wants to know, confused.

"Why, Leonard, it's a fine gift—probably the best I've ever gotten—but we cannae have it sitting so near the reactor core!"

Spock immediately catches on and starts in on the dangers of the production of gas in fermentation and poor ventilation, possibly subsequent explosion. McCoy, with an odd eye-twitch, interrupts the Vulcan's lecture loudly with "You coulda said something, you damn hobgoblin!" Kirk mediates and delegates each officer a task. The still is successfully relocated into a covert (safe) location in the depths of Engineering. The Captain, Doctor McCoy, and First Officer Spock exit to the sound of a whistling Scottish tune and the happy _bang-bang _of a tool. Leonard, who goes straight to Sickbay to do damage control, is greeted with the harried, grateful faces of his staff and little cheer from a long line of relieved patients waiting for examination.

Some time later, Scotty and Leonard hold the first tasting of a hearty brew. Mr. Scott makes small (excited) talk of his _wee_ alterations to McCoy's original design, and McCoy compliments him with a toast to "a drink so good it numbs the liver in a single shot!" In the late hour of an off-duty shift, their gathering is (as always) one of camaraderie and mutual appreciation.

Unbeknownst to the party of two, a silent shadow passes by the open door of the Chief Engineer's office, pauses, and moves on. There is little, then, but the sweet hum of the starship and the sound of accord.

_-Fini_

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Engineering hooch! I always thought McCoy had something to do with that… :D


End file.
